


Hope's Folly

by Leonia42



Series: A Violet in a Snowstorm [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Backstory, Drama, F/M, Heavensward, Holy See of Ishgard, Politics, Stormblood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 00:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13155606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leonia42/pseuds/Leonia42
Summary: Venice has regained her confidence after spending a few days in Ishgard and is ready to make up for lost time. She delivers a speech to the people expressing her unpopular opinions about the war, concerns for the future, reveals more about her past, and shows her gratitude to the people who have never let her down. Afterwards, she catches up with some old friends and demonstrates her budding diplomatic talent, ready to face whatever might come next whether her foes be from Garlemald or elsewhere.[This is a post-4.0 story and as such contains Heavensward and Stormblood MSQ spoilers.]





	Hope's Folly

The Vault, true to its name, had the highest, most vaulted ceilings Venice Lysander had ever seen. Its main hall was cavernous, beautifully lit by large, suspended candelabras with their hefty frames laden in tall, flickering candles. The grand stained-glass reliefs at the back of the room were illuminated by seemingly impossible to maintain light sources, showcasing a variety of detailed figures with perfect clarity regardless of the time of day.  
  
Venice had long since come to appreciate the charm of Eorzean ingenuity over the convenience of electricity operated through magitek; there was something mystifying about the processes involved. She tried to imagine what sort of complicated machinations were required to light and hoist so many candles into a position that managed to brighten up the most important sections of the hall all at once.  
  
_Aether. When in doubt, the answer is always aether._  
  
Before the colourful display stood the main dais and altar, presumably the holiest place in the entire room. The dais itself was empty save for a single podium, completely unlike the last two times Venice had laid eyes on it.  
  
_No battles with the Heaven’s Ward or corrupted clergymen today. This is an altogether new and somewhat relieving experience in comparison. Almost. Really starting to wish I had gone to some of those symposiums put on by the Astrologicum in recent moons._  
  
Below the dais, just before the sweeping staircase which led to its summit, stood a newly-crafted statue, moulded out of rubble recovered from Zenith judging by the colouration. The goddess Halone, one of the Twelve, the Fury, proudly brandished her spear along with a stout shield which concealed much of her body. It was hard to ignore her piercing gaze or the fact that the statue was in perfect condition, completely unlike the torn down ones featuring Rhalgr the Destroyer as seen in Venice’s most recent adventures.  
  
There was something familiar about Halone, something welcoming about her presence, something that made Venice think she was home. Even if she did not consider herself religious in the slightest, she would be hard pressed to ignore the influence Halone had over the people she cared very much about, in the place she had come to care about the most. If she ever found herself believing in the gods, it wouldn’t be difficult to follow in the footsteps of a badass valkyrie who was said to have carved her throne out of ice with a single spear.  
  
Between the altar at one and the large, oaken doors which led to a modest foyer beyond was a procession of pews; row after row extended throughout the full length of the main hall. Each had an occupant. In fact, Venice took note of a throng of robed men with pointy hats bringing in more chairs, grumbling all the while about the extra effort while trying to maintain a sense of decorum amidst the growing crowd.  
  
The pillars which denoted each section of seating were adorned with various banners, some featured house symbols which Venice recognised while others were unknown to her. Each was a visual reminder that while the Vault was at the centre of public religious life in the Holy See, it was also the centre of governance when prayers and blessings were not being administered.  
  
_So much for the complete separation of church and state. I doubt that will ever truly change._  
  
More and more people began to pile in, more chairs were fetched to accommodate the lot of them. Nobles, commoners, Elezen, Hyuran, even a couple of foreigners. The variety was staggering, it felt as if all the citizens of Ishgard and the surrounding lands of Dravania had nothing better to do after the evening meal than to come listen to someone else talk for a great length of time.  
  
Dread began to fill Venice’s belly as she realised the vast quantity of her audience. Or at least, she assumed that was the cause of the sensation. It might have been that the Vault itself appeared deceptively benign on that particular evening, a sharp contrast with her previous memories of the place. While most people came to witness or take part in ceremonies, Venice was reminded of darker things.  
  
She glanced upwards, recalling the tragic loss of a great friend, someone who might have become more than such had the luxury of time been on their side. On another occasion she had loss something less tangible: her faith in mankind when the so-called True Brothers of the Faith had made their incredulous demands.  
  
Unbidden, other memories of the events leading up to the conclusion of the Dragonsong War flooded to the surface of her mind. So much unnecessary death, blood, fire, rage, deceit, and despair. The story repeated itself in Ala Mhigo and Doma albeit without the selfsame dragon antagonists, the whims of mankind far more brutal and devastating than their wyvern-kind counterparts.  
  
An organ which had been playing traditional music had begun to die down, the stage was being set at last. The sound of gentle footsteps clad in velvetted fabric brought her back to the present. Instead of granting her immediate relief, Venice was forced to take stock of her future audience. She turned to see who approached her, with any luck it might be a messenger demanding her heroics were needed elsewhere.  
  
“Having second thoughts? I know I would in your position,” Count Artoirel de Fortemps said.  
  
The young nobleman stood nonchalantly next to her, arms crossed loosely over what was obviously a new suit; plush maroon fabric was decorated by freshly polished white-gold buttons, lace encircled the sleeves and collar as was his typical style, more embellishments than usual were present with bright jewels announcing his highborn status, his long hair had been pulled back into a half-ponytail which gave him a very distinguished appearance compared to the errant strands which used to frame his face.  
  
At first Venice didn’t recognise him. She was taken aback by his rich ensemble, confused as to why such a well-dressed gentleman might deign to speak with her. When she caught his eye, she knew at once who it was. He looked very much like his father would have done at his age.  
  
_Most eligible bachelor in Ishgard indeed.._  
  
“There are so many of them, where did they all come from?” Venice said with a gesture towards the chattering crowd.  
  
“Your guess is as good as mine. I must say, I admire your determination to see this through. While my own duties will have me conversing with crowds of similar magnitude at some point in time, it's not something I’m particularly looking forward to. You’re a far braver woman than I.”  
  
“Of course she is, dear brother!” declared a booming voice. Emmanellain de Fortemps bounced towards the pair of introverts with far more energy than was necessary, clapping Artoirel roughly on the shoulder before the older brother could distance himself.  
  
“Ugh, have you even bathed today,” Artoirel grimaced, wiping away as if mud had been thrown on him.  
  
“I have, this is my decorative suit of armour should you wonder if I simply arrived fresh from the garrison without a second thought like some kind of feral beast. But enough about me, what of you, old girl? Ready to put this lot to sleep with your long list of achievements? Please don’t forget the part of yours truly,” he tried to repeat the shoulder clap but Venice was ready for it and had already sidestepped to Artoirel’s other side.  
  
“I’d rather face Nidhogg again than have this many people listening to every word I have to say,” she said truthfully.  
  
“Nonsense! I was there remember? You hardly broke a sweat on the Steps of Faith. Put on a good show though, I’ll give you that. Entertaining your adoring fans after they’ve all had a good feed is likely the easiest and most rewarding task you’ll embark upon this moon. They are so eager to see you after your stint in the war-torn lands to the east. As am I, though admittedly this is cutting into time that I should be spending with the troops. You should venture over before you leave the region, show the newest crop of recruits what will be expected of them in Ala Mhigo. It’d be a huge boost to morale you know.”  
  
“Why are we deploying more knights when the battle has already been won by our esteemed sister?” Artoirel asked warily, tension creeping into his words.  
  
“Because as I keep reminding you, a single decisive battle may have been won but there will certainly be more chances for glory in future engagements. Surely the Garleans will not be content to surrender two provinces at once without an effort made to reclaim them for their own once more. Isn’t that so, Venice?”  
  
“While I am not in a position to speculate on that matter, it is a topic I intend to bring up in my speech tonight,” Venice said carefully.  
  
”War with Garlemald itself, who would have thought the day would come!” Emmanellain said loudly, both Artoirel and Venice tried to shush him before anyone else could take the exclamation out of context. “Quite right, old girl. You can trust me to be discrete with this pertinent information. While I do look forward to sallying forth with the Warrior of Light in the future, I do again stress that you should come by Camp Dragonhead at your earliest convenience. If not to train with the recruits then just to acknowledge the progress we are making. The Temple Knights will and should be the envy of the Grand Companies after all, I’ll settle for no less.”  
  
“And neither shall I,” a soft voice said. There stood Aymeric de Borel, a head taller than either of the Fortemps boys, wearing his classical black and blue and sporting a grin of excitement, “I see that the Warrior of Light is not content to limit the casting of her magics to the field of battle. A pleasure as always and might I add that you look wonderful this evening, Venice.”  
  
“I… thank you,” she managed somehow. The fear of giving a public speech had instilled in her belly a dance of butterflies, a dance which paled in comparison to the efforts made upon Aymeric’s arrival.  
  
“Lord Emmanellain, I should not have to ask this of you but please desist from troubling our honoured guest with trifling tasks, she is not an object that you can wield as you see fit. If you are truly devoted to leading your men then do not ask someone else to inspire them on your behalf.”  
  
“It was merely a suggestion,” Emmanellain began to protest. He was cut off by Artoirel dragging him away.  
  
“Please excuse us, if we don’t go now our seats will be taken. Best of luck with your speech tonight,” Artoriel attempted to bow and control Emmanellain in his bulky armour at the same time. Grudgingly, the younger brother followed along in his wake, giving a slightly crude gesture of encouragement to Venice as they went.  
  
The room began to quiet down as the music stopped altogether.  
  
“Pray forgive Lord Emmanellain’s exuberance, he is more eager than ever to raise his station and is not above riding someone else’s coat tails to achieve his goals. Ah, but let me explain the why of it as you probably don’t listen too closely to whispers at the Crozier; and for good reason given the lack of legitimacy most rumours hold.  
  
Lord Emmanellain was recently turned down in humiliating fashion by Ser Laniaitte in front of their peers. While hardly a new occurrence for the pair, this particular incident seemed to be the straw that broke the dhalmel’s back. There has been an awkward standoff between House Fortemps and House Hallienarte since.  
  
Emmanellain has sworn an oath to undo the damage he has inflicted upon his beloved’s house by becoming the most esteemed commander in our recent campaign with the Alliance. I’m not exactly sure how he thinks he’ll know he’s obtained this elusive status without actually setting foot outside the garrison but stranger things are known to have happened.”  
  
Venice listened intently, grateful for the distractive gossip which granted her stomach time to settle. For a moment, it felt like a casual conversation between friends and not the preamble to a dreadful experience, as if they weren’t in the Vault at all but rather back at the Congregation about to discuss matters of business and state. She concluded that it had been a tactical ploy of words meant to calm her nerves.  
  
“I can’t do this,” Venice declared after taking another sweeping look at the room. “They can’t even accommodate everyone, the upper floor is packed.”  
  
“This was your idea, was it not? We’ve been preparing for days now.”  
  
She wanted nothing more than to be back in that lush lounge room with the crackling fire, sheets of parchment strewn about the floor and furniture. Venice had found the process equal parts fulfilling and frustrating, writing down and sketching out ideas that mostly amounted to crumpled wads of nothingness. But she had to try, she had to put the ideas down somewhere or they would never amount to anything.  
  
The stem of the quill, the ink splotches on her fingertips, she could almost hear the laughter of her old band mates goofing off as they were trying to pen their next inflammatory, anti-establishment musical piece. Those had been the days before she knew what she was really capable of, before she had thought she’d amount to anything other than an irritant thorn in the Empire’s side.  
  
Times had drastically changed, she could rub shoulders with Eorzean elites without thinking twice about it. She wondered briefly if in doing so she was betraying the memory of her old comrades then dismissed the idea as a nonsensical hypothetical. At some point, she had to stop worrying about everyone else and focus on what she would do for her reasons.  
  
Aymeric had elected to keep her company, to keep a silent vigil over her progress so she would not be tempted to give up, opting to continue his own legislative work alongside her. It wasn’t hard to discern whose parchments belonged to who, his handwriting was practically an artform compared to her chocobo scratches.  
  
Occasionally, she asked for his input though he was reluctant to give it, emphasising that she should find her own voice. He could offer her little more than technical advice. If any of his political rivals sensed that Venice was being used as a subtle mouthpiece for his own agenda, the ensuing controversy would undermine the message she was set upon expressing.  
  
“I know and I appreciate the time you’ve put into helping me but it's just.. maybe it was a terrible idea. Who really cares what I have to say anyway.”  
  
“I care,” he looked straight through her and she knew he meant it. The dread in Venice’s stomach turned to guilt, if she backed out she would would be letting both of them down. “You’ve accomplished the impossible many times over, tonight will be no different. They haven’t come to judge you, Venice, only to listen. You need to do this, not for their benefit but for your own.”  
  
“Easy for you to say, you do this sort of thing all the time.”  
  
“If only you had as much faith in yourself as I do,” he reached out to touch her shoulders with both hands, keeping his gaze level with hers. The expression he gave her was one he was most famous for, the one reserved for his knights, the look that encouraged men to feats of prowess they did not know they were capable of performing, the look of unbridled confidence and conviction. “Why did you wish to come to Ishgard so soon after our victory in Ala Mhigo?”  
  
_To find peace. But you already knew the answer to that. Alright, Blue Eyes, you win this one._  
  
“May the Fury grant you strength,” he knew he had won without her saying so. To further the point, he nudged her in the direction of the podium.  
  
Venice steeled herself then began the slow ascent to the awaiting podium; the only sound was that of her high-heeled boots clicking against the polished stone. The ensemble she wore was meant to remind her audience of where she had last fought. She was grateful for the lightweight, flowing material of the layered Ala Mhigan tunic and billowing pants; the last thing she needed was to feel stifled.  
  
She took one, last deep breath before turning to face the music as it were, how badly could she muck up a single speech to all of Ishgard? The Warrior of Light’s maiden address was sure to go down in history, she hoped it wouldn’t be for the wrong reasons.  
  
_But if it is folly to hope then I am content to die a fool._   Aymeric’s words, said just before he convinced Hraesvelgr to save his nation. There were worse fates to be had and she could no longer hold her peace.  
  
“Good evening and welcome all. I was afraid nobody would show up tonight,” Venice cleared her throat and tried to laugh, a few of the audience returned with tentative chuckles of their own.  
  
So many pairs of eyes were looking up at her, she tried to fixate her attention on people she actually knew but that didn’t keep her nervousness at bay. Each familiar face acknowledged her with a curt nod or brief smile of support. She took another deep breath and glanced down at rolls of parchment covered in her own horrid ink squibbles, why did she have to possess both a shaky hand as well as a shaky voice?  
  
“If you aren’t familiar with who I am that’s alright. My name is Venice Lysander, I hail from the city-state of Gridania as a practitioner of white magic. I’m also a member of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn and a ranking lieutenant in the Immortal Flames, neither of which I intend to represent in any official capacity tonight.  
  
Most of you will know me as the Warrior of Light, the slayer of Nidhogg, the liberator of Ala Mhigo, and a litany of other illustrious titles but I implore you to see me as nothing more than an accomplished adventurer for that is how I see myself.”  
  
The notes before her outlined a history lesson, the events which culminated together to explain why an outsider, a non-believer, such as her had been permitted within the walls of a notoriously isolated Ishgard at the time. She could have stuck to that particular script but in that moment she no longer saw any value in it, the past was no longer relevant. The future was of grave concern, though it didn’t feel like anyone besides her seemed to think so.  
  
“The circumstances which led me to your fair city were dubious, to say the least, and I shant bore you with that tale. Suffice it to say, over night I went from being a ‘rising star of the realm’ to a wanted criminal in exile. This was not my first time being cast out albeit it was more forced than the last time it occurred.  
  
I had just began to think of Eorzea as home.Though I started my career as an adventurer in Gridania, it is not the city where I was born. On that singular night, I lost most of the people I had come to see as close allies, as friends, and perhaps a sense of family. There was a bunch of political upheaval which I wasn’t entirely privy to but was apparently responsible for and I was utterly lost without them.  
  
Chaos, that’s the only way to describe it all. Dark days those were. And yet, I was not the only one suffering. This was around the same time the Horde attacks were at their worst, the wards around the Steps of Faith were no longer secure. I recall my first steps in Foundation, destruction all around. It wasn’t exactly the visit I was hoping for, rather it felt more like I had exchanged one tragedy for another.  
  
And to be perfectly honest, I was too distraught to be very grateful back then. I didn’t stop to consider that I was the first foreigner in your city for quite some time or that maybe you wouldn’t appreciate having a heretic with a penchant for regicide roaming around your streets. How could anyone know the truth, you had problems of your own, the Dragonsong War was in full swing.  
  
The key to victory in that war was understanding why it had begun in the first place. One truth led to another and if there is anything I can’t resist, it's freeing people from their delusions. That and getting back at those who hurt the ones I hold dear, especially if in doing so that I might thwart my oldest foes. There is one enemy of mine that I’ve yet to fully overcome, the one that has been nipping at my heels ever since I first came to Eorzea.”  
  
Venice paused then, wondering if she would divulge all of her personal secrets. She realised that only one individual knew of her origins. The rest of the Scions didn’t know, they had not even bothered to ask. How would people react to their revered hero coming from the same land as their enemies? She suspected in Ishgard one’s deeds mattered much more than their bloodline and she doubted Ser Lucia had suffered any grief when she had made the same revelation.  
  
“As I mentioned before, I was not born in Gridania. In the spirit of full disclosure I can tell you that I in fact hail from Garlemald itself. I was born with the name Venezia bas Mercius. My misguided parents sought to raise me in the ways of ladyship and etiquette so that I might pull the rest of them out of their mediocre lives by way of marrying a wealthy legate.  
  
There are only two things that matter to a Garlean: rising in the ranks and making sure everyone else knows their place. No Garlean is free save for the Emperor himself and even that is debatable. They’ll do anything to pretend they are the ones in control. That’s why they seek to conquer the rest of the realm. As long as someone else is suffering more, then they feel empowered. Even if they had a choice, they would seek out servitude, for enslavement is all they are allowed to understand.  
  
A life spent serving another is no life at all, that is the first thought I remember having as a child. I rebelled strongly against the notion of a hierarchy built by the strongest, the most willing to stand on the backs of their peers for personal betterment. Not one for rules or being controlled by others, I left home at an early age and never looked back.  
  
Needless to say, I didn’t need to see the travesties committed in Ala Mhigo and Doma to know what the Empire is capable of doing to its own people. I’ve seen for myself what happens to those who oppose them, who are naive enough think they can change the system from within. It cannot be done.  
  
When I discovered my ability to use magic at the Conjurer’s Guild, I knew I could do more with my life than run. I could make sure nobody else suffered at the hands of the Garleans. To this day, I know not whether that blessing came from Hydaelyn or my impure genetics,” Venice stopped, amused by the irony, “My impurity was a point of great contention in my family, for my parents were both purebloods. In Garlemald, if you are not pure of blood, you may as well be less than nothing. It's a shame they can’t see me now though I doubt they are overly broken up about being rid of me.  
  
The Garlean Empire has always been a threat to the stability and freedom that sets the city-states of Eorzea apart. Operation Archon would have reached this far north had we not been successful in thwarting a single rogue legion and their Ultima Weapon. Perhaps our previous success embolden us too much, perhaps it is why we didn’t think twice about unleashing Omega and crossing Baelsar’s Wall.“  
  
Venice bit her lip and debated whether she would continue discussing politics, a topic she wasn’t qualified to discuss but had very strong opinions on. The Alliance wasn’t interested in what she thought, they would send her to their bidding with the assumption that she was completely on board. She had been cautioned about speaking out against them, should she have need of political favours later. But that wasn’t her game to play, how many of the Alliance leaders had achieved victory against the Empire? Certainly none without her assistance. Besides, it was only their methods, their complete lack of foreplanning, she questioned, not the cause itself.  
  
“It remains to be seen if the Omega Weapon will heed our commands, why did we ever think fighting fire with fire was a reasonable approach? I was there for the council meetings and though the lack of circular debate was a nice change of pace, the lack of discussion as to whether we should go to war or not disturbed me more than their willingness to use a weapon they knew nothing about.  
  
The Alliance is more interested in returning things to the way they once were than finding new ways to do them better. They will take the shortest route possible, even if that means sending men and women to their deaths on the battlefield. We cannot look backwards and move forwards at the same time.  
  
It's a wonder the refugees bothered to come at all, they were treated as a temporary nuisance at best; surely the people of Ul’dah expect them to return whence they came without a second thought, to a land that may be liberated but also lies defenceless, in complete tatters. Do you think they will be grateful for the aid they were rendered? Little wonder the people of Ala Mhigo thought they had been abandoned or the people of Doma forsaken.  
  
The Alliance didn’t exhaust all of its options though there were multiple opportunities to do so. There were no diplomatic attempts made, no economic negotiations levelled against the Empire, no reconnaissance teams sent in, no meetings with the various local groups. All they had was a stubborn hope that the problem to go away of its own accord, that the Wall would remain as the arbitrary line between freedom and tyranny indefinitely.  
  
It took a mad man with a very large axe to grind to tip the Alliance’s hand. As if his first betrayal had not been enough!” Venice could hear her voice rising in volume, her throat practically burned with lava as the words poured out. How cruel it seemed that that one man could make the Alliance act but she could not.  
  
Every memory of Ilberd had cut her deep, whether it be of anger, sadness, pity, or the unanswerable question of why. There had been a time when she had looked up to him, saw what well-disciplined adventurers could become if they had a common purpose. His lust to see his homeland free had nearly doomed the entire world to the next Calamity; he was broken and twisted, a perfect conduit for the Eyes of Nidhogg. She carefully made sure not to mention _that_ part of the tale for it was still unknown what had become of the accursed Eyes.     
  
But she had hardly been the only victim, Raubahn had arguably suffered more. He should have known better the second time around. As soon as he set foot on the other side of the Wall, the general was like a hound on the scent and could not be stopped. How fortunate the Alliance was for the ineptitude of their opponent, Zenos yae Galvus, a tactical imbecile who knew not how to combat an organised force or treat his own resources as more than disposable fodder.  
  
The lack of any grand strategies from their side worried her, what would they do when they were set upon by Varis zos Galvus’ primed legions? The Emperor would seek vengeance for the death of his son, he would want to make an example of the tiny corner of the world that did not already bend to his will. Venice also could not shake the notion that there was more to Varis then they knew, he had been in the right place at the right time during the push into Azys Lla. Questions to figure out at another time, she could already see her audience’s interest wane as she tried to get to the heart of the matter.  
  
“I hear the whispers of rebellion have spread further within Garlean territory since our victory at Ala Mhigo. While that ought to sound like good news, it means the Empire will grow desperate to reign in the discontents under its rule. Desperation leads to dangerous, unpredictable behaviour. While I have mixed feelings about Eorzea’s place in this new political landscape, I do not harbour any doubts about how treacherous our path has recently become.  
  
Too often I was denied extra support against Gaius van Baelsar and his campaign to colonise Eorzea, told that nobody wanted to outright antagonise the Empire lest we set upon a path we could not hope to escape from. And for good reason, the Garleans are an adaptive and menacing foe with their superior magitek, cunning intellect, unscrupulous tactics, and advantageous numbers in both manpower and mechanised labour.  
  
Caution seemed a reasonable course. What has changed since then? Now the city-state leaders are in a sudden hurry to poke the hornet’s nest, stripping the Empire of not one but two of its provinces. If they think a swift victory will lead to a lasting peace, they are sorely mistaken. While it is true that progress cannot begin until the fighting is done, it will not happen right away; further interruptions of conflict will only ensure its delay. We have done little to prevent this from happening, our troops already come home thinking the worst is over.  
  
Make no mistake, our foray into the East was done as an invasion force. It's easy to forget that because of the atrocities committed by the Empire. Regardless of the circumstances and the justification used, we were perceived by those living legally there to be a threat. They had every right to defend themselves against us. Not everyone supported the Resistance, the Resistance itself wasn’t a unified organisation. There were many who were quite alright living under that oppressive regime as long as it provided them with security. The Alliance tore that away. We aggressively liberated nations that did not ask for our aide, leaving them vulnerable to reprisal afterwards.  
  
In Doma, Lord Hien, was willing to sacrifice his life so that his people may live as they chose to, even if that meant living under the Empire. Freedom is often taken for granted; moreover, it is often misunderstood. Having a choice does not mean that the choice made will necessarily be beneficial. To force people to live as you want them to is tyranny and if there’s anything Ishgard understands with perfect clarity it's what sort of form the yoke of tyranny can take.  
  
Tyranny disguises itself as the one true way to peace, it may even actually care about protecting you but ultimately it will pay the highest price to obtain the power needed to control once free people. The pursuit of power corrupts. Every time. For someone to have power, someone else must lose theirs, this is the lesson I saw repeated in the East.  
  
I do not advocate that we should do nothing, for we ignore the Garlean Empire at our greatest peril. They wish to enslave the world, they are no better than the primals they loathe. They can be beaten but it will take more than brute strength to safeguard our borders. We must be cautious about how we proceed, we must be smarter than them without resorting to their level of depravity. More than anything, we should never allow our lust for justice turn us into what we have sworn to fight against or all we do will be for nought.  
  
As a healer, it shouldn’t be too surprising that I am loathe to go to war. My duty is to preserve life, not destroy it. War should always be a last resort. As a Scion and an adventurer, I have not been beholden to any one nation’s agenda, I’ve had the freedom to do as I please. I would like that sort of freedom to be available to everybody.  
  
However, as a hero of the realm, I have certain responsibilities to uphold, regardless of my personal feelings on any one matter.  When words fail, steel prevails. Sometimes you have no choice but to take up arms. That’s where we are at now.  
  
We’ve already crossed the point of no return, that journey has already begun. We must now decided what the destination will be. If that means going all the way to Garlemald itself, we must be certain. If we hesitate, we’re already dead. We’ve already accomplished a great deal but unless we can protect what we’ve achieved, it will be stripped away as if it had never been there at all.  
  
There is so much we can learn from the Dragonsong War. Whenever we were opposed by Nidhogg and his ilk, we persisted through and emerged victorious. We pushed past every obstacle hurled in our path because that’s what Eorzeans do, that’s what _Ishgardians_ do best. You are relentless, just as the Fury is.  
  
I may not believe in the Twelve but I’ll be damned if I’ll allow anyone to dictate an individual’s choices as to who and how they worship. Our choices are what define us. Your devotion to helping those in need saved me when I was at my lowest, when I could not find the will to continue my journey. I have lost much and so have you, is there anyone in this city who has not grieved for a fallen knight or a loved one who died due to preventable circumstances?”  
  
Venice tried to force memories of the fallen away so she would not lose her focus; she could not do anything about the warm tears slowly making their way down her nose and cheeks. Haurchefant, Ysayle, and so many others. She had been struggling to find her purpose again; spending time in Ishgard had helped but the pain was still there. The pain would never go away. Nonetheless, she had to keep going, had to keep fighting because to do otherwise would dishonour the sacrifices that had been made on her behalf.  
  
“Were we not shown the truth, given the chance to amend for the mistakes of the past? Do you not worry for what befalls your soldiers when they are so far from home, fighting another war so soon after the last? When does peace begin? I know you’re still struggling to come to terms with so many changes at once, as is your government as it continues its democratic transition. These are uncharted waters for all involved. Perhaps we cannot make sense of it now but rest assured that the Alliance could not function without Ishgard’s continued support.  
  
I saw your knights on the field and they outshone the Grand Companies in every way; you should be proud of them for flawlessly performing their duty, for leading the charge and spreading hope wherever they went. Both the Ala Mhigans and Domans had suffered so much, so far beaten into submission were they that they did not see the purpose in rising up to fight their oppressors any longer. Though they had an absence of courage, the Alliance forces did not, especially those wearing blue and gold. Your knights gave them reason to believe that freedom was worth fighting for, worth dying for, that better days lay ahead of them so long as they were willing to try.  
  
The stakes are higher now than when the Horde was our enemy. We must be just as committed if we are to continue to push back against the Empire. And we will have to push them back, there is no doubt that our recent victory will not go unopposed. Truth, freedom, love, if we value these things then we cannot afford to grow complacent. One victory in Ala Mhigo won’t be enough.  
  
Eorzea needs your tell-tale cooperative spirit, your ability to see through the hard times, your unrelenting pursuit of justice, your unbreakable faith in the Fury and each other. Ishgard will be the beacon in the dark days ahead which the other city-states will look to for support and inspiration.The realm as a whole needs more knights to protect her so let’s fulfill our common duty together. If you will watch my back, I will have yours.  
  
And though my allegiance lies with other associations, regardless of the colours I wear, you can bet that I am always going to be out there fighting first and foremost for _your_ right to peace and prosperity. I will endeavour to represent the good people of Ishgard wherever I go, this a solemn pledge that I swear to you today. When the fighting is done, if it ever is done, I want to return here to live as you do, as a knight, not only in name, but in merit as well.  
  
I’ve fallen hard for this great city and all her citizens. You’ve given me sanctuary and something to believe in. A good friend once asked me what I wanted, not as a Scion, but for myself and this is my answer: love.The Dragonsong War was based on a love story that had gone awry. In the end, love set things right again. That is the message the rest of the realm needs to hear right now.  
  
Thank you for listening to me prattle on, these words have been in my heart for quite sometime and I am glad to share them at last. Should you wish to talk to me about anything at all, I will make myself available in the coming days. It doesn’t have to be anything serious and I am always up for regaling tales over drinks at the Forgotten Knight.  
  
May you enjoy the rest of your evening and may you ever walk in the light of the crystal.”    
  
The crowd was eager to disperse, Venice had gone way over her allotted time. She closed her eyes and waited for the adrenaline to recede. By the end of it, she had worked herself up more than she thought possible. She had to be wary of her emotions sneaking up on her like that, lest they try to take control. Still, at least it wasn’t the same crippling anxiety that had befallen her at the start, that had to count as an improvement.  
  
“Well, well. Seems the Warrior of Light has found her voice at last. You’re starting to sound like a good and proper noblewoman, Venice.”  
  
“Hilda! Oh come now, you know I’m the lowest of the lowborn,” Venice beamed, embracing her smaller friend. “You are a hard woman to track down, I’ve been trying for days now.”  
  
“Aye sorry about that,” Hilda said after Venice relented. “Some poor sod thought I needed to be in a position of authority and I’ve had to learn how to act the part. Been doing all sorts of training, training about training even, putting together instructive routines for the Watch. Speaking of which, I’m running late to my post right now but I had to come and see what all the fuss was about.”  
  
“Before you head off, can I ask for your genuine opinion, from one lowborn to another?” Venice asked in a hushed voice.  
  
“Shoot.”  
  
“What’s your honest assessment of the general mood around here lately? Has there been actual change or is everyone reverting back to the old ways of thinking? I feel like I need to know that what we did...stuck somehow. That all the fighting is worthing something in the end.”  
  
“Hm,” Hilda paused to think before delivering her answer. “Well, it's better than it was. The push into Gyr Abania has been a mixed blessing. Soldiers don’t care about what kind of person is fighting next to them, the bonds of friendship forged on the battlefield are ironclad and indiscriminate. But it also serves as a distraction, easier to follow orders than to think about why we became so divided in the first place.  
  
On the other, other hand, our knights saw some terrible things over there that made them count their blessing back home. A dragon looks like a monster, whether it is friend or foe but a man in armour is less obvious. The Garleans did a real number on their people, feels like we’ve dodged a bullet thanks to your previous intervention.  
  
As you alluded to: when the fighting ends, the actual hard work begins. I am not sure that Ishgard is the gleaming example you want us to be. Not yet, but we’re getting there. Every day is another chance to try. You gave us the opportunity to make our own choices and we won’t waste it. Maybe the other nations you’ve set free will handle the change faster, who knows.”  
  
“Maybe,” Venice wasn’t sure, the situations weren’t entirely the same. “They’ve been hurt real bad and it's going to take awhile to get them going again. In the meantime, we do what we do best. I’ve been thinking about taking up training as a machinist, among other disciplines.”  
  
“Oh? You’re more than welcome to come out to the range and try your hand at it, could borrow my gun if you don’t have one of your own. I’ve heard Garleans are inherently sharp shots, you might be able to teach us a thing or two,” the half-Elezen said with a wicked grin, reaching up to affectionately pat the carbine on her back, forgetting that weapons were not permitted inside the main hall unless for ceremonial reasons. “Bugger, I better go before I get yelled at. We’ll do ‘guns and ale’ one afternoon, will be a lot of fun. You could even bring your boyfriend though I doubt it would be his cup of tea.”  
  
And with that leader of the Hounds was gone, running out the door to retrieve her weapon so that she may begin her evening watch. There were many things that bound the people of Ishgard together: deeply entrenched traditions, a shared faith, sense of honour, the pursuit of duty above all else. The importance of family whether their members were related through blood or adoption also could not be overstated. None of the other cities had a comparable tight-knit community as far as Venice could tell.  
  
“She says that as if I’ve never shot anyone before,” an older voice said. It wasn’t who Venice was expecting to hear.  
  
“Have you?” she asked incredulously.  
  
Lord Edmont de Fortemps rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as if pondering how best to respond. Then, with a halcyonic twinkle in his eye, he said, “A story for another time, my dear. But I did not come here to discuss myself. This is your evening after all, I know how stressful this must have been. You often play your cards close to your chest, speaking up only when it is necessary.  
  
Tonight you were full of drive and purpose, you spoke from the heart with integrity and undaunted conviction. I shouldn’t have assumed you’d do any less, all of my children have grown into distinguished leaders; my only daughter is no exception. I am proud of you and I am certain Haurchefant would say the same.”  
  
“Thank you, Lord Edmont, that means a lot coming from you,” Venice said, the words fumbled out as her emotions surged. _Proud_. Her own flesh and blood had treated her as an unwanted object but an Elezen gentleman who looked nothing like her had done the complete opposite. He had shown her what family was supposed to mean.  
  
“For now, I must take my leave. Pray excuse me,” he gave her a shallow bow before shuffling off into the crowd.  
  
Venice later caught sight of the count of House Durendaire, a stern look played out over his sharp features as he watched her from a distance. His conniving expression was interrupted when Edmont approached him. Venice had a sense that his goal was to keep the count busy, for which she was grateful. She had no headspace left for local politics that evening.  
  
“Did he just…?” Emmanellain stuttered.  
  
“I believe so, yes,” Artoirel responded, sounding equally dumbfounded.  
  
“The highest of praises,” Aymeric agreed, standing just behind Venice, who was too lost for words to acknowledge him. Nevertheless, she took silent comfort in his presence, additionally noting his inquisitive expression; it wasn’t often that he struggled to find the words to ask what he wanted. Had her speech been too honest, did she say too much or leave something important out?  
  
“Here she comes, remember what I told you,” Emmanellain whispered to his brother. “Act interested but not too interested, trust me on this.”  
  
“Ah, Lady Lucia, you look positively radiant this evening, would you join us for a moment?” Artoirel beckoned Ser Lucia to their small gathering, promptly ignoring whatever illicit advice Emmanellain had given him.  
  
“For a moment, my lord. I have an early morning so cannot linger too long,” Lucia’s cheeks were moderately flushed. Venice half-expected her to admonish Artoirel for lavishing her with an undue compliment but she didn’t seem to annoyed by the broach in protocol.  
  
“We were just about to discuss an upcoming dinner party that I was planning on hosting,” the young count began. “Nothing special, a small group of like minded friends enjoying a good meal together. I was hoping you’d be open to an invitation?”  
  
“I could be, who else is going?”  
  
“Emmanellain?” Artoirel suddenly seemed very interested in his younger brother’s presence.  
  
“What? I don’t have time for social events,” Emmanellain brushed him off hurriedly.  
  
“What my lord means to say is he doesn’t have a suitable date for such an event,” Honoroit piped up, having joined the group at last.  
  
“That is not true! In fact, I’ve had to turn down many a fair maiden this past moon alone. No, I have a duty to uphold and will not be deterred by leisurely temptations. I do apologise for missing out though I can vouch for Artoirel’s attention to detail which you must see for yourself.”  
  
“And what of my beloved sister, Lady Venice?” Artoirel sounded deterred, his eyes silently begging her to agree so that he might not have to endure a solitary date with the good knight. “Surely you and Lord Aymeric would like to attend? It has been too long since we all sat together for a laid back conversation.”  
  
“My schedule hardly permits any free time..” Aymeric began but Venice cut him off almost immediately, grabbing his arm gently within her own. He didn’t make any effort to pull away.  
  
“We’ll be there!” she declared a bit too loudly. Artoirel practically laughed with relief, as did Lucia who clearly didn’t want to be left alone with him either. Venice couldn’t quite tell if the awkwardness between them was due to nerves or something else, the last time she had seen them in close proximity to one another was during the mess at Falcon’s Nest. Emmanellain gave her an affirmative look, which was good enough for her.  
  
“I suppose if I move things around I can open up a single evening when we will both be off-duty, though you’ll have to provide sufficient forewarning,” Aymeric didn’t sound especially thrilled about being volunteered against his own volition but neither was he interested in denying Venice what she desired. Artoirel had been right, it had been too long since they all gathered together as friends rather than as political allies. It could even be fun under the right circumstances.  
  
“Sounds like good company to me,” Lucia said with a hesitant smile, looking over to Aymeric for approval. He nodded and Venice gave her an encouraging pat on the arm.  
  
“We can shop for new dresses together, how exciting,” she said with mock enthusiasm, hoping that was the appropriate thing to say though she didn’t relish the idea of having to doll up for a casual dinner affair. No, if Artoirel had any romantic interest in Lucia then it would not due to cut corners, she would have to do her best to support him.  
  
“Should you ever feel inclined to reminiscence about our shared homeland, I would be more than willing to oblige you,” Lucia said, not exactly happy about the idea of shopping either.  
  
“I appreciate that though I suspect such a conversation would be a grim affair,” Venice replied flatly.  
  
“Aye. Regardless of the past, you are one of us now. The Empire’s loss is our gain. They will see the error of their ways soon enough,” she turned her attention away from Venice, bid the lords a good evening then departed.  
  
Everyone went their separate ways then to mingle amongst the crowd, Aymeric sticking close to Venice, seemingly enjoying the lack of attention. She stopped to shake hands and tell stories, checking up on the various people she had helped in one way or another. Venice was practically overwhelmed by the goodwill that was thrown at her, she knew that she was favoured by the populace but it unsettled her to see them adore her so openly, as if she were Halone herself. The people needed her and she needed them. It was humbling to see firsthand what sort impact her choices had made, confirming that her heroism was more than fodder for mythological tales, reinvigorating her desire to see justice delivered to her enemies.  
  
The night wore on and Venice’s voice wore out. Socialising was hardly her strong suit. She began to look towards the exit and caught the gaze of a lone priest who was trying very hard to hide his willingness to engage with the heretic.  
  
“I remember you,” she said, approaching him. He nearly jumped from fright. “You’re the one who accused me of turning your world upside down, refusing to believe that the archbishop was anything but a good man.”  
  
“I’d hardly be the only one to think such things,” the man in the stuffy robes pointed out.  
  
“You clearly want to say something without saying it. Why don’t you just get it over with before the opportunity slips you by?” Venice tried to keep her tone even to not ruffle his feathers any further.  
  
“Is it better to endure the painful truth than to live in blissful ignorance? Some days I do wonder,” the man’s dark eyes flicked between Venice and Aymeric. ”I am surprised that a heretic could share the same values as Halone’s chosen. You’re not quite the upstart that I originally took you for and I owe you an apology.”  
  
“That’s not necessary..” she began, slightly caught unawares by his candour.  
  
“It is, you’ve been our light in the darkness,” he implored. Then he shifted his attention back to the lord commander, “You, on the contrary, have been extinguishing her flame with your efforts, or rather lack of effort.”  
  
“This is about the archbishop vacancy, isn’t it?”  
  
“You promised a separation of church and state but all there is now is the state,” the priest pushed on, suddenly finding the courage to speak his mind. “They say you don’t seek power but the evidence says otherwise. It's only a matter of time before all these changes threaten to undo the entirety of what we hold dear. How convenient is must be to be without a political rival who may defend the rights of the church. You can do as you please without any opposition, how is that any different than the old system?”  
  
Venice calmly put out her hand to dissuade Aymeric’s response, the same way he had done at Hraesvelgr. She gave him a stern look then continued to address the priest in his stead, ”You do not need to place your trust in one man any longer, trust your fellow citizens, in their representatives. So what if somebody isn’t telling you how to do your job any more, you are free to make your own decisions now.  
  
I understand there is much happening at once, that it might be frightening to open your doors to outsiders who may not be as supportive as I have been. But shouldn’t you see this as an opportunity to convert new souls? To help those in need, as you have done in the past?  
  
I know you don’t believe me but I can’t stress this enough: Thordan was no different than Emperor Varis or any other dictator. I’m not sure if you’ve ever encountered a primal thrall before, they do not have any thoughts or feelings of their own, nor are they capable of holding onto their faith. Is that the future you would have preferred? We can do so much more as a free people working together, will you be a part of that movement or will you cling to old falsehoods?”

“How do I know that _he_ will do any better?”  the priest said venomously, pointing to Aymeric.  
  
“I am not my father,” he said coolly.  
  
“On that much, we can agree.”  
  
Venice stood between them lest the coolness turn into anger. In a soft voice she continued where she had left off before the unbidden interruption, ”The people of Ishgard are struggling, confused by new rules and coming to terms with past faults. Some are in deep mourning, utterly lost without their dear ones. Will you leave them to languish while you wait for somebody else to take the lead?  
  
Mayhap you should continue to do the things you normally do: interpret the scriptures as you see fit, continue to offer your blessings, and render succor. Make the most of the second chance you have been given. If not for your sake, than for theirs.”  
  
The man went silent, bowing his head to consider Venice’s words, “We’re so used to the wars within, the wars without, that it's easy to forget about love. There is much merit in what you’ve said tonight. You have given me much to ponder during my next period of contemplation. Thank you. Good evening to you, my lady, my lord.”  
  
The priest left the pair of them alone with an awkward silence hanging in the air.  
  
“Love,” Aymeric said tentatively, as if trying the word out for the first time. Her heart skipped a beat, waiting for him to continue. A serious expression was quickly replaced by a wry smile, ”They should have given _you_ a seat in the House of Lords.”  
  
“We have got to work on your sense of humour,” she said, abundantly relieved that they weren’t going to have _that_ conversation.  
   
\---  
  
Venice took one step outside and knew immediately that she was not adequately dressed for Ishgard’s unforgiving cold-weather. She had spent too much time in the Far East, forgetting what kind of mess snow and ice could leave behind on stone-lined streets. She shivered and tried to tuck her hands under her arms. Plumes of vapour turned into small crystals with each breath she took, a nearby streetlamp snuffed out as a heavy gust pushed sheets of fresh snow towards every surface.  
  
She could barely make out the spires in the distance, nevermind the other side of the street which led towards the affluent residences of the Pillars. Other streetlamps which remained lit glowed eerily to mark the way. Another strong gust threatened to bowl her over. The crowd was thinning out; everyone else wore furs and high boots, both fashionable and mindful of the elements.  
  
Despite her prickling skin and reddening cheeks, Venice was awed by the sight of fresh snow. Once the wind died down again, she could really appreciate the silent beauty surrounding her. Icicles clung defiantly to the eaves above, puddles of ice reflected the light coming through the stained glass, a layer of benevolent white concealed all that it touched.  
  
She had seen a lot of magic in her travels, some of it good and some of it bad. Some of it was utterly indescribable. But nothing took her breath away quite like watching frozen crystals drifting slowly down from the sky above. The only sight that could possibly compare were the shooting stars she had seen on occasion during her time in the Churning Mists and that had mildly terrified her as she had imagined meteors raining calamities down on other distant worlds. Snow was benign, peaceful, and though problematic when it accumulated, a reminder that together each new flake could create something more. She felt her anxiety melt away as the snowflakes continued their descent.  
  
As if on cue, Aymeric rejoined her then. Silently, he undid the clasp of his cloak and placed it upon Venice’s quivering shoulders. She was sure it was a gentle gesture but the heavy weight of the garment caught her by surprise.Dark wyvern scales on the outside deflected the cool crystals of snow and ice, the inner lining concealed what she suspected was yak’s wool. It was altogether too big for her though she was not a small highlander by any means.  
  
“Thanks” she said, looking up at him.  
  
How strange he appeared without being clad in his iconic blue attire. He didn’t reprimand her for coming so ill-prepared, instead he seemed lost in thought. She loved that pensive look, the furrowed brow that said he was more likely to solve a problem through deliberate consideration than with the cut of his blade. He was more than adept at both methods but there was something telling about his preference for the former.  
  
After a long lull, Venice spoke up, “So how do you think it went? And don’t sugar coat it, I can handle the brutal truth.”  
  
“For the most part you did quite well. Struggled a bit at first, probably a result of nerves, but once you tapped into what you needed to stoke your passion, you were unstoppable, every word was raw and powerful. The audience clung to you as you drove home what was ultimately an optimistic message, given the circumstances. You barely stuck to the notes we had gone over so even I was surprised by what you had to say. Surprised and deeply impressed. There’s a budding orator within you.”  
  
“That may be but I don’t want to repeat this experience any time soon. I’m so glad its over.”  
  
“You’ve grown a great deal since we first met in the Intercessory, it's been a real privilege to be a part of that,” he said with profound honesty.  
  
Venice recalled their first meeting in vivid detail, amused that she had dreaded it at the time. She had had her fill of appeasing incessant nobles that didn’t want to have anything to do with her so her expectations had been quite low. But Haurchefant had held his fellow knight in high regard and she was willing to give him a singular chance to prove her wrong, which he did.  
  
Like all the others, he had an errand for her to complete. In hindsight, it was the first true mission given to the Scions at a time when the rest of the Alliance was reluctant to engage in their services. Unlike the others, the task was equally a friendly gesture meant to benefit people Aymeric knew very little about in the hopes of fostering good will.  
  
He wasn’t merely trying to safeguard the Ishgardian border, but rather attempting to give validity to the Scions when they needed it most. He had taken a leap of faith, placing his trust in complete in strangers, hoping they could live up to the reputation they proclaimed. From their very first encounter, he had been looking out for them. For _her_.  
  
“You used to be more idealistic,” Venice quipped with a grin. How far they had come since then. He gave a half-hearted laugh but said nothing more. Together they watched the snow fall.  
  
“Come, we should have a drink and get out of this cold before we both freeze to death. I’ve recently acquired a couple of bottles of Doman plum wine, a celebratory gift from Lord Hien. I had thought to save them for a special occasion but I daresay any evening spent with you fits that description.”  
  
Venice was distracted as she watched snow crystals nestle against his dark curls. She was relieved to have gotten so much off her chest that evening, so much had been weighing her down. If she had doubts about the war then she was certain that the loved ones of the soldiers fighting so far from home did as well. She needed the people of Ishgard to know they were important to her, that she would look after them no matter what the future held.  
  
For too long she had kept her thoughts to herself, too long she had gone through the motions of being the Warrior of Light without thinking enough about why she fought. Finally she knew her purpose, she had a home and a family that truly cared about her. She had something to fight for. To say it all out loud had made it real. Whether it was the cloak upon her shoulders or that sudden realisation which granted her warmth, she did not know. It could simply have been the smile Aymeric afforded her, like he could see no one else.  
  
She laughed, the relief giving way to a sense of carefree happiness she hadn’t quite felt since the war had begun, “Lead on, lord commander.”  
  
Hope. That’s what she had.  
  
_But if it is folly to hope then I am content to die a fool._  
  
\---  
  
Venice rolled onto her side and immediately wish she had not.The bright morning rays of Hydaelyn filtered through the high bedroom window, bringing upon her a piercing headache accompanied by a raging hangover. The usual morning mind fog was thicker than it ought have been, she could scarcely remember how much she had had to drink or when she had found her way to bed. Grudgingly, she tighten the knot of fabric which held her modesty in place and made to move out from under the covers, moderately embarrassed that she was still wearing the same clothes from the day before.  
  
It was neither her bed nor was she alone. She looked over to find Aymeric lost in deep slumber, gone to another world, scarcely believing that with a list of responsibilities a malm long that he ever found time to rest. If she were feeling the effects from the wine then he surely would as well so she consigned to let him sleep it off. With great care as to not disturb him, she began to unbury herself from the heavy, woollen dunner.  
  
Despite her best efforts, the blankets slipped from his shoulder, revealing the top portion of the grisly scar which adorned his exposed torso: a stark reminder that none made it through war unscathed. She winced, having not been close enough to see the wound in great detail before, fighting off the instinct to cast a healing spell. Saved by the grace of the Fury, some would say. _You’ll make a believer out of me yet_ , she thought to herself.  
  
It was a high price to pay for the sake of progress but at least he had pulled through the ordeal, too many others were not as fortunate. Her own scars were less visible, how many more would each of them acquire before they reached journey’s end? She resecured the blankets around him then leaned over to brush aside the locks against his forehead, gingerly kissing the selfsame spot before getting up from the bed, bracing her bare feet for the inevitable cold floor.  
  
The floorboards beneath the rug had been warmed by the morning sun, granting her a reprieve from the iciness that was typical of the early half of the day. She tiptoed quietly towards the window to look out at the busy street below, listening to the chatter of the commonfolk freely going about their normal lives. The storm from the night before had fully dissipated, there was an energy in the air that she hadn’t felt in the East. Some day the people of Ala Mhigo and Doma would enjoy the same privileges of those in Ishgard.  
  
For a moment, her hangover did not cause her pain. She closed her eyes again and tried to recall fragments of memories through the brief lapses between headaches. The speech had gone over as well as she could have hoped for though she doubted it would be her last. What she was certain of was that there were bound to be more in her future, more rallying cries, more preparations, more fighting, and plenty more wounds to heal. It wouldn’t stop until Emperor Varis was brought to heel and even that wasn’t assured to be the end. No rest for the righteous, indeed.  
  
Her previous life before Eorzea felt like it had been an entire lifetime ago, as if it had happened to somebody else. She remember the day of her first exile, she had been hungover then as well but not because of drinking too much of an expensive, foreign drop that tasted like insatiable sugared candies where one sip was never enough.  
  
She had drowned herself the night before in some cheap swill, the potent poison of preference for those living from gig-to-gig, the sort of drink that was easier to come by than the magical herb with the soft after-effects which her bandmates would rather have procured. The morning sun had been just as warm as it was then in Ishgard, only the buildings of Garlemald were more tall, reflective, and harsh. The imposing streets were full of people walking in uniforms, heads down, trying not to be seen as they scampered off into the shadows.  
  
Venice had been reluctant to join her comrades that morning for practice, they had spent the past week yelling and screaming at one another about the direction the band should take. Anger was often the catalyst for their best content but she had reached the point where she was getting tired of picking up after everyone else. Though she was the second to youngest of the five members of Coeurl Calamity, she had been unofficially saddled with the role of Mother Hen, acting as mediator and caretaker for her more rambunctious counterparts.  
  
But that morning none of them were prepared for the fate that lay in store for them. The lead singer had silently held up a newspaper with a wanted ad that featured pictures of all of them. They crowded around in a circle waiting for someone to take the lead, nobody pointed fingers or cast blame. One member even held her tongue, knowing better than to say “I told you so” when the rest had disparaged her notion of joining the airship troupe that soared beyond the borders of their oppressive homeland. They had pretended to be bigger than they were, hubris finally catching up with the young band of amateur anarchists.  
  
The sound of sirens and shouting a street over made the decision for them, all five splitting up with only the clothes on their backs to find their own individual paths out of the city. Later it would become known that their small band was hardly alone in the purge, the magistrates had finally gotten their way by convincing then Emperor Solus zos Galvus to rid his provinces of those suspected of committing acts akin to sedition. While the Emperor had been known to tolerate artistic freedom, the rapid growth of his territory was beginning to pose a problem, easier to keep the magistrates in check than deal with potential repercussions later.    
  
In the wake of the Calamity, Venice had begun to see life in Ilsabard as a blessing, they had avoided much of the fallout. She couldn’t imagine making the journey south across the desolate mountains, back towards the coastal village that she had left behind as a child, towards the unknown across the sea on the continent of Aldenard. Had the people of Eorzea not been wiped off the face of the world by the fall of Dalamud? What sort of backwards people would be left there.  
  
She didn’t have a choice, it was the only place the Empire had not engulfed. Her band had sought to instill the fire of rebellion in their countrymen, using the power of music and creativity to motivate them to do more than complain about their lot in life. But they had failed, miserably so, she had lived on the street like a criminal and thought herself better than the people who had been obliterated by a false moon, what a fool she had been. She had thought of her bandmates as her friends but when push came to shove, they abandoned each other without so much as a word.  
  
That winter had been one of the harshest, even compared to the icy landscape of Coerthas which Venice would come to be familiar with later. Somehow a city girl had made her way to the hunting lodges southwest of Garlemald, taking whatever odd job she could that would reward her with scraps of sustenance. For once, her lack of a third eye had become a boon, nobody in the countryside had patience for pureblood nonsense.  
  
They didn’t have much patience for someone without any coin either but she made do, eavesdropping on the hunters and mimicking the tools of their trade. All it took was a pliable sapling to make a suitable bow, granted she went through many of them before she worked out how to treat the wood with oil.  
  
She should have died more times than she could count, there had been one particularly bad memory of rigid frostbite in the mountains when a poacher had taken pity, entrusting her with his precious pelts. They had provided her warmth but her fingers were too frozen to string the bow to hunt. Later she would sell the pelts off. When she did so, she came across a bulletin that declared the purge of corrupted artists by the Empire had been a resounding success. She never found out what happened to all of her previous band, only two of them had been referred to in the declaration; one had been taken out by a hired assassin and the other by firing squad. She wadded up the paper for kindling and wondered how much longer she would survive.  
  
One misstep after another led her to blistering heat of Gyr Abania, she hardly recalled how she made it through the extreme conditions. The easy part had been killing a Garlean patrolman and disguising herself to get across the Wall. After that she had discarded her old name, sworn off ever playing an instrument again so long as she lived, wandered into a travelling merchant on the way to Gridania, and discovered what the hells aether manipulation was all about.  
  
Venice shivered as the memories washed over, remembering how scared she had been that she would die unknown and alone in that cold forest or, more cruelly, that she would be ambushed by a member of the Ala Mhigan Resistance. If she had not been so talented at conjureration, she doubted the Gridanians would have tolerated her presence for long either.  There had been so much movement back then, so little time to feel invested in any one place or people. Her list of enemies had long since grown, as had her allies.  
  
She felt someone come up behind her. In the past she would have drawn her weapon. Instead she leaned back and allowed him to get close enough to envelop her waist with his long arms. Aymeric rested his chin against her shoulder, one ear brushing ever so slightly against her cheek. Together, in comfortable silence, they enjoyed the warmth of the morning. The storm was gone and peace reigned in its place. She reached out to gently touch his other ear, running her thumb along the back of its full length. How far she had come since Garlemald, to the sweet embrace of one who held the type of authority she once despised.  
  
She had found herself in the possession of something too precious to lose: the city of Ishgard, the idea of a nation governed by the people was worth protecting. Should the Empire or any other nefarious element deign to set foot within the city Venice Lysander coveted, they would be forced to face her long before Aymeric or his knights could even contemplate drawing their weapons. She would willing lay her life down for the sake of Aymeric’s vision, _her_ vision for the future. At long last, the Warrior of Light knew her place.  
  
Aymeric pulled her closer, nuzzled her cheek then whispered into her ear, “Today is going to be a beautiful day.”  
  
She couldn’t agree more.


End file.
